To have lived a generation is not only to
have grown at home in that perplexing medium, but to have
assumed innumerable duties. To die at such an age has,
for all but the entirely base, something of the air
of a betrayal.

*

Even if death catch people, like an open pitfall, and in
mid-career, laying out vast projects, and planning
monstrous foundations, flushed with hope, and their mouths
full of boastful language, they should be at once tripped
up and silenced: is there not something brave and spirited
in such a termination? and does not life go down with a
better grace, foaming in full body over a precipice, than
miserably straggling to an end in sandy deltas? When the
Greeks made their fine saying that those whom the gods love
die young, I cannot help believing they had this sort of
death also in their eye. For, surely, at whatever age it
overtake the man, this is to die young.

*

And so they were at last in 'their resting graves.' So long
as men do their duty, even if it be greatly in a
misapprehension, they will be leading pattern lives; and
whether or not they come to lie beside a martyrs' monument,
we may be sure they will find a safe haven somewhere in the
providence of God. It is not well to think of death,
unless we temper the thought with that of heroes who
despised it. Upon what ground, is of small account; if it
be only the bishop who was burned for his faith in the
antipodes, his memory lightens the heart and makes us walk
undisturbed among graves. And so the martyrs' monument is
a wholesome spot in the field of the dead; and as we look
upon it, a brave influence comes to us from the land of
those who have won their discharge, and in another phrase
of Patrick Walker's, got 'cleanly off the stage.'

*

It is not only our enemies, those desperate characters-it
is we ourselves who know not what we do;-thence springs the
glimmering hope that perhaps we do better than we think:
that to scramble through this random business with hands
reasonably clean, to have played the part of a man or woman
with some reasonable fulness, to have often resisted the
diabolic, and at the end to be still resisting it, is for
the poor human soldier to have done right well.

*

We are not content to pass away entirely from the scenes of
our delight; we would leave, if but in gratitude, a pillar
and a legend.

*

There are many spiritual eyes that seem to spy upon our
actions-eyes of the dead and the absent, whom we imagine to
behold us in our most private hours, and whom we fear and
scruple to offend: our witnesses and judges.

*

How unsubstantial is this projection of a man s existence,
which can lie in abeyance for centuries and then be brushed
up again and set forth for the consideration of posterity
by a few dips in an antiquary's ink-pot! This precarious
tenure of fame goes a long way to justify those (and they
are not few) who prefer cakes and cream in the immediate
present.

*

But I beard the voice of a woman singing some sad, old
endless ballad not far off. It seemed to be about love and
a BEL AMOUREUX, her handsome sweetheart; and I wished I
could have taken up the strain and answered her, as I went
on upon my invisible woodland way, weaving, like Pippa in
the poem, my own thoughts with hers. What could I have
told her? Little enough; and yet all the heart requires.
How the world gives and takes away, and brings sweethearts
near only to separate them again into distant and strange
lands; but to love is the great amulet which makes the
world a garden; and 'hope, which comes to all,' outwears
the accidents of life, and reaches with tremulous hand
beyond the grave and death. Easy to say: yea, but also, by
God's mercy, both easy and grateful to believe!

*

As a matter of fact, although few things are spoken of with
more fearful whisperings than this prospect of death, few
have less influence on conduct under healthy
circumstances.... If we clung as devotedly as some
philosophers pretend we do to the abstract idea of life, or
were half as frightened as they make out we are, for the
subversive accident that ends it all, the trumpets might
sound by the hour and no one would follow them into battle--
the blue-peter might fly at the truck, but who would climb
into a sea-going ship? Think (if these philosophers were
right) with what a preparation of spirit we should affront
the daily peril of the dinner-table: a deadlier spot than
any battle-field in history, where the far greater
proportion of our ancestors have miserably left their
bones! What woman would ever be lured into marriage, so
much more dangerous than the wildest sea? And what would
it be to grow old?

*

If a man knows he will sooner or later be robbed upon a
journey, he will have a bottle of the best in every inn,
and look upon all his extravagances as so much gained upon
the thieves.